Through the looking glass
by iamthebookie
Summary: We invite you to imagine a dream world where all your favourite characters reside. Ponder a world of nonsense and magic where the greatest triumphs and tragedies of each character are yours to behold. As each character prepares to face Voldemort, step through the looking glass and glimpse their world as you've never seen it before.
1. Chapter 1

Through the Looking Glass

_It's said he was born with riches beyond measure. His home sat on the tallest, most majestic hill overlooking the humble town of Little Hangleton. He was born with the love of his mother to shelter him and the beliefs of his powerful ancestor Salazar Slytherin to serve as his guide. Yet for all the treasures Tom Riddle possessed, the one thing he desired most – the love of his muggle father – was never to be had._

Orphaned, desolate and embittered by his father's desertion, Tom would live the next eleven years of his life in a broken down muggle orphanage, where his distaste for muggles would continue to fester. Near his eleventh birthday, a wondrous gift was bestowed upon Tom – the knowledge that he was a wizard and an invitation to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For Tom, the enchanting world of magic provided an escape from his pathetic muggle existence and, tragically, made his distaste of muggles grow into a hatred that would consume him for the rest of his life.

_Lord Voldemort. . . no more than a figment of my own creation,_ Tom thought silently, _and yet it is a name people will not speak for fear of invoking the awesome horror that is my power._ Even his own followers, the Death Eaters, cowered in his presence, and dared not speak his name. He was known to them as Master, or My Lord, but not even those he trusted most chanced to speak the name he'd given himself. There was tremendous satisfaction in knowing that kind of power, and just thinking about it brought a terrible smile to his thin mouth.

With such terrible power came prestige and honor. He had the power and potential to one day conquer immortality, but first he had other business to attend to. The world he would rule in his omnipotent immortality would be free of those like his father…he would wipe the face of his world clean of muggles, muggle-lovers and the mud-bloods that came from such horrific unions. A vile feeling from the mere mention of the names and what they signified washed over him in an instant. Muggle. . . it was a horrid thing in his mind. Mudblood was even worse, for he knew in his heart that he was one himself. Dirty blood, tainted by his filthy, Muggle father.

He fought to control the emotions that welled inside him. Resentment, hurt and distrust had no place in his world. Those were muggle fallacies left over from the few traits he inherited from his worthless father. From his hidden position deep in the moss covered woods, he searched the midnight sky for it. A sign that would tell him his loyalists were waiting for him. A sign that would bring terror to all those who choose not to believe. A sign that proved his day had finally come.

As if on cue, it appeared, flaming through the night sky to beckon him forward. Emerald green stars, glittering like jewels, gathered to form a skull in the heavens.

He could see their faces in his memory. He remembered them all. Those he had killed, those he had tortured, those that had somehow managed to escape death at his hands. He could see his loyal followers most vividly. He had no idea what thoughts or emotions they held as they stood before him. Was it fear or loathing? Perhaps it was love or admiration? Even with all his immense powers, the inner thoughts and emotions of those that had faced him were hidden beyond reach for the mighty Lord Voldemort. He could only guess as to the reflections on their lives they may have made.

But you, dearest reader, will no longer have to guess. Gathered together, some of the most celebrated authors of HPFF will bring you into the world of love, laughter, sin and betrayal of those who have faced Lord Voldemort. Join us, if you will, and enter a story like you've never read before. A story of hope, forgiveness and loss for the characters you thought you knew so well. Step through the looking glass and let your adventure begin.

"_These are the times that try men's souls." Thomas Paine_

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own any of these characters! All rights go to jk Rowling!**


	2. Chapter 2- Longbottoms

**Chapter 02: ****The Second Defiance**

The house was the same one they had visited the night before last, frozen in a perfect silence as if nothing had ever happened. The furnishings were the same: the same chintz sofa and wicker armchair, the same lamp stand with the iridescent glow coming from beneath the oversized lampshade. And the identical ornate wall lights shone just as when they had come across them as they entered the building that fateful Thursday night before. The smell was unchanged too: the unmistakeable smell of trepidation and fear. His heart beat a little faster as he could feel the atmosphere chill around him. He tentatively stepped towards the kitchen where a faint light emanated from underneath the closed door ominously: something wasn't right. There was someone missing from this scene, but he couldn't look back. He knew he must open the door, and find the light behind it. A lump began to form at the back of his throat; he knew what he would find here just as he had before. She would be there, scarred and torn, wracked with pain, and he would be made to watch her suffering. Still he placed his hand upon the brass door handle, and slowly turned it to the right as time repeated itself on a never-ending loop. He was there again, but then he knew he would be as soon as he had taken his first steps towards Dorcas Meadows cottage on this crisp winter night.

The feeling of déjà vu washed over him once more as he saw the vision played again like an old movie in slow motion. Except it wasn't Dorcas this time being slowly tortured by Voldemort while they fought the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself. He glimpsed down at the crumpled figure, almost too frightened to look again. Voldemort goaded him as the masked men held him back; the high-pitched voice piercing his ears like fingernails down a blackboard.

"You will watch me do this. You will watch me and learn that you will pay for all your impertinence. She will die, and you will be next. Look at me, girl. I like to see the eyes as my victims die. There is a fragility of life that is extinguished as I summon the curse you all fear. Look at me. You will fear me. Look at me, Alice."

"Alice!"

Frank Longbottom shot up out of his nightmare, and looked at the empty space next to him in the tangled and crumpled bed. The pillow was dented from where she once lay. He always had nightmares, but last night they had been the worst he had ever known since he became a member of the Order. Last night had been different. Thursday night was only the second time he had truly feared for his life, and the second time he had come face to face with the one they all despised. Voldemort had been there. Of course he was there. She had meant that much, and he wanted to set an example to the Order. The visions, lights and sounds of the raid all mingled into one as the early morning light began to filter through the curtains and disturb his light slumber. But though he knew it was only an inaccurate dream, he pushed back the heavy winter blankets, and grabbed his robe for warmth as he walked down the hallway to find Alice. He knew where she would be, and he had to find her. He heard the sounds of her coughing in the bathroom and for the first time that morning his face broke into a soft knowing smile. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief: she was safe.

Morning sickness! From the minute Alice had found out she was carrying his child she had been suffering from the dreaded side effect, and this morning was no exception. Pausing before he knocked, Frank stood in front of the bathroom door and leaned his ear against it to listen for her.

"Alice. Alice it's me, love. You alright?"

"Yeah. No. Sort of."

He grinned at her indecision because it was one of the oddities about Alice that he adored. He placed his hand flat against the cold wood of the door, pressing his palm against it, and though she was on the other side he wished he could reach out and take her suffering away. He always tried to help her as best he could. If the other night had taught him anything it was that he always wanted to protect her from all the evil in the world. Her and their unborn child.

"Is there anything I can get you? You must be exhausted, my love. Let me make you a nice cup of tea, and you come back to bed for a while. Come on. I'll rub your back for you and make you all better."

The latch of the door clicked, and her round and attractive face peered out from behind it. He smiled as he saw in front of him the only girl he had ever loved. Alice was his, and he was hers, and everyone said they were made for one another. He could never imagine his life without her by his side. Alice made an effort to return the compliment of his smile, though Frank could see in her hazel eyes that she struggled to do so.

"Not tea, darling, it makes me worse. Could you get me a glass of pumpkin juice and just a ginger biscuit? I think I'll feel better after I've had a little something to eat."

"Of course I will. Now, if you've stopped the sickness for a while then go back to bed, and I'll bring you the breakfast in there."

Alice did as he suggested, and Frank made his way through to the kitchen, filling the muggle kettle with water (as for some reason his Mother had always done it that way and now he found he liked his tea that way too.) and pouring the Pumpkin juice into a tall glass tumbler. He looked around him, and glanced out of the window as a robin flew towards the bird table. It pecked at the seeds Alice had left out for the hungry creatures the day before, boosting his stores ready for nesting season. The snow had settled finally that night, and Frank looked out at the white blanket with a heavy heart. It reminded him of that frosty night. She had been in the kitchen of her house too. He hurriedly opened the biscuit tin, trying to lay the visions to rest, and found the ginger biscuits his mother had made for Alice on hearing of her suffering. But, as he slowly laid them out on a plate, his mind wandered back, and the dark visions of his night time slumber returned to haunt his day. But this time it was the truthful version of events.

**************

"Quick Frank, we don't have much time to organise a search party. Dorcas has sent up the warning sign, and you and Alice are the nearest. Can you make it over there? Others are on their way as a back up, and Moody should be there soon too, if we can find him, but you two get there quick. It might be him. If he's found out she was double crossing him he'll deal with her himself. We could get Voldemort!"

The message from Marlene was brief, but to the point, and the Longbottoms wasted no time in grabbing their winter attire and apparating down the road to find the cottage. They knew the place well. Dorcas had trained both Frank and Alice when they first joined to be Aurors, and this had developed into a firm and trusting friendship. It was a truly beautiful place in the daytime sunshine, with roses at the front and a climbing wisteria snaking its way across the timbers of the old porch. It mingled with a jasmine to scent the air as you brushed past. The thatched roof, and wooden picket fence, made it look like a sweet chocolate box image, but tonight it was far removed from such an idyllic scene. Tonight there was a fearful air about the place, and the gate swung off its hinges in the swirling winter wind as if it wanted to warn them of the scene they were to find inside. The next thing that struck both of them was that there was no bark from the friendly Jack Russell that Dorcas kept as a companion.

Alice looked across at Frank tentatively, and he squeezed her hand firmly for reassurance. Looking into her questioning eyes he nodded his confirmation as he cautiously pushed at the wooden slatted door. It opened all too easily, loosened at the hinges as if someone had entered in a hurry. Wands at the ready, clutched in the palms of their sweat ridden hands with their arms outstretched, Frank and Alice slowly crept around the cottage, ducking down low to avoid the low beams that adorned the place. Alice swallowed hard as they heard piercing screams coming from the kitchen area, and the chill and presence made her realise who was there. They had come up against him once before and the feelings from that time hung in the air this night too. She whispered to her husband, "He's here", and Frank nodded slowly. But he had sensed his presence too. The icy air and foreboding feeling as they crept forwards encompassed the whole cottage now, and they reached out to hold one another's hands as they viewed a glow coming from underneath the kitchen door. This could be the chance they had waited for. To kill or capture Voldemort was the ultimate prize. But Frank was not an ambitious man though his thoughts were drawn to just that. Still Dorcas was the main priority. Releasing Alice's hand, he reached towards the brass handle and drew breath as he swung the door open, both their arms aloft in unison shouting "Stupefy!" and "Expelliarmus!"

"Frank. Are you ok in there?"

Alice's dulcet tones dragged him back from replaying the previous events, and he grabbed the Pumpkin juice and plate of biscuits and walked back to find her. There she was, looking weary but still beautifully radiant to his biased eyes. As he placed the glass and plate next to her on the bedside cabinet, Frank bent down to kiss her forehead gently. Tracing a solitary finger around the outline of her dark brown wispy hair, he worked his way down to her jaw line, and lifted her chin gently to place a soft exquisite kiss on her rosy lips that were warm and soft. He smiled at her as he tasted toothpaste on her lips and remembered how he had found her that morning in the bathroom. Making his way to the other side of the bed, he pulled back the covers and snuggled in beside her, leaning on one elbow to gaze at her as she devoured the biscuit with relish. Frank grinning as the crumbs fell on the delicate ivory skin of her bosom, just like the freckles that fell across the bridge of her pretty turned up nose. He felt so protective of her at times like this that he just wanted to wrap her all up in cotton wool and whisk her away to a far away land. A land with no Order and no Voldemort, where they could live forever in peace. She deserved it. As she sipped at the Pumpkin juice she turned to see him staring and frowned. Placing the glass carefully down on the cabinet top she questioned him.

"What is it?"

He shook his head and grinned. "Nothing, love. I was just merely thinking how incredibly lucky I am to have a beautiful woman like you in my bed."

She reached over and touched his face, smoothing the soft skin of his cheek, and reaching the stubble formed across his chin. Alice jumped back slightly as she did so as it tickled her fingers. She peeped through the curtain of her fringe with her large doe-like eyes and grinned. "Smooth talker. You'd charm the birds out of the trees you would, Frank Longbottom. My Mother told me about men like you."

Frank chuckled and raised his eyebrows on mock surprise. "Did she? You didn't take much notice then, did you, young lady? Look at the state of you now!"

Slipping further into the warmth of the bed, Alice moved across and laid her head on Frank's muscular bare chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. In return, Frank automatically reached for the soft mound of flesh around her slightly swollen belly, covered by a swathe of silk and gently rubbed it in a soft circular motion, connecting with his unborn child. Alice relaxed back into his sheltering arms. She always felt safe and secure in his arms, and as the pregnancy progressed she felt more and more uncertain of the world around her, and more in need of her beloved Frank. What sort of a world was she bringing this child into? Were they so responsible having a child now when so much was undecided? What would become of it if anything were to happen? Just as it had with Dorcas. She closed her eyes to try and relax in Frank's arms, but all she saw was that night.

**********************

As the door opened, and they shot the stunning spells through the path, an awful high pitched cackle of laughter filled the air. They knew he was in the room, though the flashes of light emitted from the wands of the Death Eaters blocked Frank and Alice's vision. As Frank took the left hand side of the room, and Alice the right, both taking on two Death Eaters at a time, Voldemort screamed instructions to his loyal servants.

"Come on! There is only two of them, and four of you! Am I always to be cursed with incompetent fools?"

Alice struggled against the cries of "Accio wand" and "Impedimenta" as she dodged flash after flash of spells, her agile body managing to fight them off as she snaked her way around to meet her husband, punching out with her fists if the spells didn't hold. Frank had summoned a Shield charm to protect him, and so far the spell had worked. He kicked out with his feet, and used his bare hands to struggle with one of the male Death Eaters, successfully pulling off his mask to expose him. Struggling to cover his face, Rosier wished to remain anonymous that night. Time stood still for all but a second, and Frank remembered the happier times they had spent here in this room, with pleasanter company, warm coffee and fruitcake and fun conversations as they told Dorcas their happy news, but all was lost of those heady days now. A crash of falling saucepans brought them all back to reality with a jolt. Having worked their way around the room, they were slowly cornered; trapped from all angles and faced with four Death Eaters bearing down on them. A wave of nausea rose in Frank's dry throat, and the hairs on the backs of Alice's arms began to prickle and rise up under the stress of the situation. How they hoped the others would arrive soon.

Both of them now captured, the Death Eaters parted, wands still pointed at their prisoners so that they could give a clear view of what was about to occur. The figure, partially cloaked by the shadows of the night sky, moved towards the centre of the room and the cowering body of Dorcas Meadows, already in obvious distress from before her friends' arrival. The hooded beast was unrecognisable that night, but the Longbottoms did not need introductions; just his mere presence and authority made them aware they now faced the one they all feared. A long, pointed finger came out from the dark, heavy cloak he wore and his shrill voice, slow and detached, hit them like no spell could.

"Well, I hardly expected an audience tonight, but now you are here you may enjoy our entertainment."

The collected Death Eaters muttered sniggers and whispered agreements.

"Dorcas here has been a thorn in my side for quite some time now, with her lies and deceptions, and I have had enough of her meddlesome ways. She will learn that to trouble Lord Voldemort means certain death. You will all learn in time that none will outwit Lord Voldemort."

Frank craned his neck to see what was happening; he knew their time would be soon, and he had to distract Voldemort just a little longer until the Order came to save them. They must all come soon.

"You're weak, Voldemort!"

The Death Eaters hissed at the mention of their Master's name, and Voldemort smiled across his thin lips at the audacity of the man standing proudly in front of him.

"Ah, I see now it is Mr and Mrs Longbottom. Another thorn in my side, aren't you? Weak, am I Longbottom? You will see just how weak I am!"

Silence filled the room until Frank Longbottom felt the power of the Cruciatus Curse, and he fell to his knees in agony. Alice made to comfort him but the strong, restraining arms of the Death Eater to her left held her back.

"Leave me alone!"

"Your wife does not know when to hold her tongue, Longbottom. Perhaps she would like to join Dorcas here."

"NO!" Frank forced his words out as he winced at yet another wave of pain. Life without Alice would mean nothing. If she were to die he must take them both.

"Very well. I am in a generous mood. I will deal with you later. For now I feel Dorcas needs my undivided attention."

He pulled the fragile woman's hair up to force her head upwards, blood trickling down her tear-stained cheeks as she tried to turn away from those hypnotic eyes. Voldemort crouched down, his face staring into hers menacingly. His mouth twitched as he drank the fear emitted from her now, for she knew her fate was already sealed in his unforgiving heart. If indeed he had a heart at all anymore. He was playing with her like a hunter plays with its prey before finally devouring it in one swift strike. Alice closed her eyes as, on his command, the Death Eaters performed the Cruciatus Curse on Dorcas simultaneously again and again. But though her eyes were closed tight, her ears still revealed the horror surrounding her, and she could not escape the blood curdling screams. She muttered under her breath " Please let it be over soon, please have mercy on her soul." over and over again, hoping some higher power would listen. But no one was to listen to her pleas that night. Voldemort waited until he had tasted enough torture, and as he looked at the sight before his eyes he muttered "Pathetic", laughing as he focused on Dorcas for one last time. With a flash of green light she felt pain no longer, and Alice wept silently.

Frank felt the warm droplets of her tears trickle down the skin of his bare chest like a river, and he pulled Alice closer to him protectively. He was always loathed to see her cry: his Alice was happy go lucky Alice and kind, gentle and loving. He adored the Alice that laughed out loud at his feeble attempts at telling jokes; that lit up his mornings and shared his nights. The Alice that listened to his atrocious singing that failed to hit one true note. And now his love had found a new level as she carried his first born; the first of many he hoped, and it pained him like a knife to the heart to see her so sad and fearful.

He kissed the crown of her head, and raised her chin gently with his fingers, but she did not smile as she looked into his eyes.

"Hey you! You'll upset that baby of ours if you carry on this nonsense."

As he gently stroked the skin around her jaw line with the flesh of his thumb she broke into a gentle smile as she looked deeply into his eyes. But tears soon replaced the smile again.

"I'm so frightened Frank. If help hadn't come when it did, if we hadn't fought them all off, then…" She turned her face away a little. "And what of our future? What if anything happens to us, like it did with Dorcas? I really want this baby, and I so want us to all be together and be happy without fighting the Death Eaters or Voldemort. I want to be happy."

"And we will be happy, my love, I promise. I'll always be by your side to protect you both you know that. I'll never, ever leave you."

Alice sighed aloud. "I know, I'm just worried for our little ones future."

"That's one of the many reasons why I adore you, Alice Longbottom. Now, who do you think he'll take after?"

Alice chuckled. " He? You're sure it's a boy then?"

Frank grinned and shrugged his shoulders, wrapping his arms around her so she leaned back against him. "No, I don't know, but I'd like a son. I missed out so much on not having my Dad around when I was growing up, and I want to be there at every step with this little one. Mind you, if he is a Longbottom male then he'll be useless at magic until he comes of age. It's always the way with us blokes in my family. That, and being a ladies man, of course!" He winked at Alice suggestively.

Alice laughed out loud and snuggled deeper into their embrace, sighing as she felt the warmth of his arms against her skin. Closing her eyes, and succumbing to her sleep she felt safe and secure again. She imagined a small, dark-haired boy with a round cherubic face running free in a beautiful, green meadow on a warm summers afternoon. He was being chased by his ever-loving father while she watched them from under the shade of an old oak tree, looking out at her beloved boys. It was such an idyllic scene she could almost reach out and taste her hopes and dreams as they unfolded all around her. The sunshine beat down upon them all, ceaseless and inviting, not a single cloud littering the perfect blue sky, and she wished with all her heart that her thoughts and dreams would become her reality.

_But, in the times that they lived in, she could only live from day to day. Dreams were for sweet slumber, and the reality of their time was far harsher, and filled with the living, ominous presence of the Dark Lord Voldemort._


	3. Chapter 3- Minerva McGonagall

**Through the looking glass**

**Chapter 03- ****Cat's Eye**

The corner of Privet Drive and the intersecting side street was a very quiet corner. The grass was no longer very green, this being late in the year, but all the houses were neat and entirely commonplace with brown brick facades and windows in all the normal places. There was nothing untoward about this corner at all. The only people ever seen there were those who lived in the area, and even then they sped through in their automobiles without a passing glance. But no one noticed the tabby cat who calmly sat near this corner, her strangely human-like beady eyes watching every auto which passed by. She did not belong here.

That fateful morning of November 1st, 1981 was the same as all others before it for the residents of Little Winging, Surrey, especially those who lived upon that corner of Privet Drive. The Dursleys at number four in particular led a normal muggle lifestyle, the cat noticed from her precarious perch upon a wooden fence. She had remained in this horribly uncomfortable position for most of the day, watching the Dursley family.

The cat was unimpressed. One simply did not allow the cat, usually known as Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to be unimpressed. That was something one did not do.

She had watched as the head of the family, Vernon, left for work in his perfectly average automobile. His bulging eyes and short, nearly non-existent, neck bothered her greatly, as did his unpleasant voice. He had stared wildly at the cat as she sat by the corner of Privet Drive, looking a map of Surrey.

_Since when do cats read maps?_ he asked himself incredulously.

After blinking, Vernon looked once more at the cat, who was now glaring back at him like a stern teacher. The strange markings around the cat's eyes almost resembled a pair of square-shaped spectacles, but Vernon knew that was impossible. It was simply a figment of his imagination, most likely the product of all that greasy food he had eaten the previous day. Shaking his head as though to clear it, Vernon stomped on the accelerator and his auto disappeared into the realms of suburbia on his way to London. Gracefully, the cat leapt off the fence and sauntered down the street, stopping in front of number four, Privet Drive.

There was nothing special about this house, nothing at all to set it apart from the others along that quiet street. Its clean windows sparkled in the early morning sunlight, the lawn was wonderfully groomed, and the gardens were neatly weeded. The cat sat there a few moments longer, thinking about how much this house would change in the period of a day.

How sad it was that the cat had to be sitting in front of that house on Privet Drive. It was not a place that she would usually be had the choice been hers, but now, with the dreadful events of the previous night, she had forced herself to come and watch these Muggles who would become the guardians of the Boy Who Lived.

So much had happened to the cat, or rather her human self, since the rise of Lord Voldemort. Her world had crumbled and everyone lived in fear. Now, that fear was gone, but at a terrible price: two of the most talented and kind-hearted people she had ever known were now dead, murdered by the worst curse known to wizard-kind. Others she knew were also dead, or close enough to death that life no longer mattered to them.

The world had shattered like a pane of glass, and not even the death of the Dark Lord could repair the damage. Witches and wizards all over the world were celebrating the banishment of evil, but she could not. Not when she knew that the one who had defeated that evil would have to live away from his own kind for years, possibly years of suffering and pain. But there was no choice. The boy would have to live among muggles until the time came for him to attend Hogwarts. Not only was it for his own safety, but for his sanity as well. Being hailed as the saviour of the world when he could not even remember the occasion would be cause for much emotional pain. The boy would have enough to live with growing up without parents.

A loud, bloodcurdling scream caused the cat to jump. It seemed as though the terrible cry had emitted from the house in front of her, but she could not believe it possible. Then, through a ground-floor window she saw a very tall, thin woman fighting to put a pair of shoes upon the feet of a kicking, screaming, purple-faced infant who did not want to have the shoes put on him.

"NO, NO, NO!" the infant cried at the top of his tiny, but powerful lungs.

When the door to number four Privet Drive opened, the cat was sitting near a hedge, licking a paw and trying to look like an ordinary cat. The woman who exited the house, dragging along the infant, mildly resembled her now-deceased sister, but only in the shape of the face and nose. Otherwise, she was not alike at all, particularly in the way her mouth frowned and her pale eyes inquisitively watched everything around her. But she did not notice the cat.

As the woman, who the cat supposed to be Petunia Dursley, and her son made their way down the street, the cat could hear the infant loudly begging for sweets. Loving to spoil her young son Dudley, Petunia of course agreed to get him some.

Disgusted, the cat sniffed and settled herself down for a long wait. The person she was waiting for would not arrive until night fell. While sitting near the hedge, the cat began thinking and remembering things she had not thought of in many years. Things that she had pushed back into her memory, not wanting to remember them, but not wanting to forget either.

The main staircase of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was lined with curious eyes, woken in the middle of the night by the news that someone was dead, killed by a mysterious and dangerous creature. People's heads craned to see the draped form as it was slowly carried down from the girl's lavatory on the second floor. Teachers watched morosely, not noticing the students high above them, also quietly watching what they knew to be a body.

At the bottom of the marble staircase, Headmaster Armado Dippet stood shaking his bald head and wringing his bony hands.

"Oh, what are we going to do, Albus?" he asked the tall man beside him in a hushed voice. "What will happen when they hear that a student is dead?"

The other man looked more angry than saddened, his auburn hair and long beard giving him a greater aura of authority than the feeble-looking Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"We will do what we must, Headmaster," Albus Dumbledore replied calmly, his blue eyes betraying emotion where his voice did not. "Myrtle's family will have to know about this."

Dippet looked for a moment at the draped body which had now reached the top of the stair to the first floor. "Yes, yes, I know that, but how are we to tell them how it happened? There was not a mark upon the girl at all! Nothing to say how this dreadful thing happened!"

Dumbledore frowned. "As you know, Headmaster, there are spells which can easily do such things as kill a person without leaving any evidence."

"Many creatures can do the same thing, Albus," Dippet returned, his voice hardening for a moment. "I will have to speak with that Hagrid boy again. Always bringing dangerous creatures into the school. This cannot be allowed to happen, especially... especially with this..."

"You cannot be sure that this was Hagrid's fault, Headmaster," Dumbledore argued. "The boy is utterly harmless and his 'pets' are wholly in his control."

Dippet shook his head. "No, I will speak to him as soon as everything has been cleared up. If I find out that he played a role in this girl's death - "

"You can be sure that he did not," Dumbledore pressed, his voice dangerously quiet.

Still shaking his head, Dippet began moving off. "I will leave it to you, Albus, to take care of all this." He waved his hand at the almost-ghostly form coming down the steps. "As you advised, I will go send and owl to the girl's parents. Oh, this is horrible!"

He walked off, still wringing his hands and shaking his head.

The lifeless form of Myrtle Nettleton, the unfortunate third year who had mysteriously lost her life while hiding from bullies in the second-floor girls lavatory, continued down the staircase. Just behind it appeared a young woman with long black hair that was loosely tied back from her serious, but not unpretty, face. She hurried over to where Dumbledore stood, her eyes full of questions and something that came close to fear.

"Professor, what's happening?" she asked, a hint of fear in her voice. "Someone said that a person was dead..."

Dumbledore did not meet her eyes. "I am afraid so, Minerva. Headmaster has given me the duty of laying Myrtle to rest."

Seventeen-year-old Minerva McGonagall, Head Girl of the school, held a hand to her mouth, shocked by the news. "Does anyone know how it happened?"

Looking over at the staircase to the Slytherin dungeons, Dumbledore answered, his voice dropping barely above a whisper: "Headmaster believes it to be the fault of Rubeus Hagrid."

"But you do not," Minerva finished for him. "Nor do I. Rubeus wouldn't bring in a creature that kills like this. He may be careless sometimes, but he wouldn't go this far."

"Ah, but you see, Minerva, Headmaster cannot see anyone else to lay the blame upon," Dumbledore said, his eyes still watching the lower stair. Minerva followed his gaze to try and see what he was looking at, but could not discern anything in the shadows.

Her mind was in turmoil. After being woken by the arrival of Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, nudging at her hand, Minerva had hurried as fast as she could down from the tower chamber, sending students to bed along the way. It was from them that she learned why the castle was in uproar: a student was dead. The entire time she rushed down the staircase she asked herself how something like this could happen. Hogwarts was perhaps the most secure building in England other than Gringotts Bank in London. There was no possible way that some outside being could enter the castle.

_Unless someone let it in_, Minerva thought to herself. _Or worse, it was already inside the castle._

From the top of the stairs, she had seen the Headmaster and Dumbledore talking. The discussion had ended as an argument with Dippet shaking his head and rushing off. Minerva silently cursed the man who would not listen to Dumbledore, who she fully and almost blindly believed in.

Seeing the body had shaken Minerva far more than anything else in her life. Death was not new to her, but wrongful death was. Hurrying past the shroud to get to Dumbledore, she saw a single, pale arm hanging down. That image would never leave her.

Now, standing beside her mentor and house head, Minvera could see that he had guessed the truth, but could not prove it.

"Who did this, professor?" she asked, her voice shaking. "Please, I can see you know!"

"Tom Riddle," was all he said before stepping forward to open the door.

With him gone, Minerva now saw what, or rather who, he had been looking at over by the stair to the dungeons. There stood a tall, handsome boy with glittering emerald eyes and neat, raven-black hair. Perhaps the most popular boy at the school, Riddle was a Slytherin prefect and someone that Minerva did not like very much. But what disturbed her the most was the expression on his face. It was the most evil smile Minerva would ever see; a cross between a sneer and a look of horrible accomplishment.

It was a look that would remain her memory forever.

The cat sat so stiffly that anyone who saw her would have believed her to be a statue. She did not bother to notice anything that went around her now that her mind was in such turmoil at that dreaded memory and the thoughts it brought her. If she had only known then what was to happen only thirty years later! By then, many had forgotten Tom Riddle, who had disappeared after leaving school. Even Minerva no longer thought of the boy who stood watching the morbid procession with such a look on his face. But she knew that Albus Dumbledore had not.

Obtaining her position as Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts had brought Minerva back to the place she felt most comfortable. A place where she knew she belonged. Little had changed since her time there as a student, except for the second floor lavatory, which had been locked up since the girl's death thirteen years before. After a while, however, she was able to walk past that room without a glance back into the place where death had come too soon. The memory of Myrtle's death become only a distant memory, as did Tom Riddle, whose name Minerva did not hear until rumours of a strange evil rising on the Continent came to her ears.

The news of another dark wizard did not bother Minerva at first; the Continent was a long way from England, and in effect, Hogwarts. She left the vanquishing of such evil to those who were trained and capable to do so. Minerva McGonagall was a teacher of magic, not an Auror.

A noise stirred the cat into coming out of her reverie. From the sidewalk facing her came Petunia Dursley and her spoiled brat of a son, Dudley. It seemed as though Dudley had learned a new word from the look of pride on Petunia's face.

"Now, dearest little Duddykins," she was saying with a highly annoying baby voice. "We've made it back home, haven't we?"

"WON'T!" shrieked the little figure who looked like a child, but to the cat was a little demon.

Petunia seemed thrilled rather than angered by this word. "Oh! You've learnt a new word! Just wait until your father hears, he'll be so proud of you, little angel!"

Inwardly, the cat groaned at the absurdness of it all. Now Lily Potter would never have said such a thing or treated her son in such a way. Instead she -

Then the cat remembered. Lily was dead, as was her husband James, at least, that's what people had said.

Harry, their young son, had miraculously survived the horrible attack by Lord Voldemort. No one quite knew how, except for Albus Dumbledore, and he hadn't told anyone the truth about the Boy Who Lived and the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord who had once been called Tom Riddle.

When the rising of evil began, Minerva had foolishly believed that nothing would come of it. Oh, how she was wrong! How wretchedly wrong not to notice the strange similarity this dark wizard had to the Slytherin prefect she had once known! Dumbledore had been the only one to see the truth and to recognize Voldemort for who he really was.

For the next decade, Minerva had watched as people joined Voldemort's ranks, looking for power and glory. Some actually believed Voldemort's claim that muggle-borns should not be allowed to learn magic or even be accepted into the magical world. Many pureblood families saw mud bloods as a disease - a lower race that would one day take over. At the creation of the Order of the Phoenix, Minerva saw young, talented witches and wizards put their very lives in danger to stand against this rise of evil. Now, the majority of these brave souls were dead, murdered by the blackness that surrounded their world.

There was a time when it seemed as though Voldemort would win, that his armies would destroy all that had been in existence for centuries. The terror that hung over everyone - wizards and Muggles alike - seemed eternal and permanent. Then came the news that Voldemort was gone, destroyed by a mere infant. The Boy Who Lived, Harry James Potter.

Deep in thought, the cat jumped up onto a stone wall in the Dursley's garden. She didn't even bother about being seen. Frankly, she didn't care. When the car rolled into the driveway, the cat looked up, curious. Seeing that it was only Vernon Dursley arriving home from his boring London workplace, she glared at him then pretended to act disinterested. After he attempted to shoo away the cat to no success, Vernon entered the house huffily, but not without a second look back at the curious cat who he swore was the same one who had been reading the map that very morning, and who had glared at him like a strict teacher.

The cat listened to the Dursleys as they discussed their respective days. Hearing Vernon's story about strange people dressed in colourful robes and owls flying through London, Minerva scowled. All over the country, and perhaps even the world, her kind were celebrating the end of the terror that had held them in its terrible grasp for so long. But that was no excuse for making themselves conspicuously visible to Muggles, the cat believed.

As the sun began to set, the cat settled in for a long wait upon the cold, hard wall. She desperately hoped that the person she awaited would arrive soon. Keeping the cat form for such a long period of time would make for a painful experience the following day, one that would include strange urges to scratch whoever annoyed her and purr when she was happy. Most undignified for a person of her level, thought the cat's human mind.

She listened as the Dursleys watched the evening news and later got ready for bed. As Vernon Dursley lay awake, pondering the peculiar sights he had seen that day, the cat was looking up and down the street for the person she knew was to arrive at any moment. A car door slammed in the next street, two owls swooped overhead, but still the cat did not move. She remained as still as a statue, waiting.

Then she saw him appear from nowhere and her worst fears were proven. His coming to Privet Drive, a place where he obviously did not belong - even less than the cat - meant that all the rumours had been true. Lily and James were dead, giving their lives to the cause after so many lucky escapes. No longer would Lily's ringing laugh be heard, nor would James play tricks on his friends. No longer would the world know two brilliant people. No longer would a boy have a family who would love and care for him.

While the cat thought about what the world would miss, the man she had waited all day for took what looked to be a silver lighter out of his pocket. Silently, every light on the street went out, flying across into this mysterious object the man held. The whole area was as black as the darkest of nights. Not even the moon dared show its face.

The man, with his flowing white beard and garish purple cloak, turned and walked back towards the number four Privet Drive. The cat watched him intently, but made no sound. Albus Dumbledore, head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, among other things, sat down beside the cat without even looking at her. He did not need to look to see who it was.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."


	4. Chapter 4- Lucius Malfoy

Chapter 4- Lucius Malfoy

My Pride, my fall

As he stands before me, tall and proud it is almost beyond belief, beyond comprehension. So it is with some caution that I edge closer, edge slowly from under the gentle shelter of the trees into the open air of the graveyard. For my caution is borne from my disbelief, my doubt that the one who stands before me is truly one returned from the dead. But my doubt cannot last long, for He could be no other. And the ground is hard as I hit my knees, jarring to the bone as my hands slide forward through the dust and the dirt that clings to my long fingers and rises in a gentle cloud around me, stinging my nose and tickling the back of my throat as I breathe. As my nails scour grooves through the earth that gathers beneath them.  
Not dust…mud.  
I am a Malfoy and I am on my knees in the mud, crawling through the dirt and grime on my hands and knees, crawling through the very thing after which all I despise is named, hair brushing mere inches from the ground as my head hangs. And I can feel every crack, every indiscretion and every imperfection in the soil that I am too close to. The smallest of stones stabs me even through my heavy robes, causing my stomach to twist in a way all too unpleasant in its familiarity. As I push myself forward…slowly…subserviently, my face hidden beneath a cold mask that is both a comfort to me, and a curse. I lean forward, fingers clenched as I fight to keep my balance until I can feel the fabric beneath my lips. And it is no longer soft but coarse and painful. And even as I brush it with a kiss I again feel that knot that I can't quite place, as the words of a different place float in the air around me, taunting with their arrogance and self-assurance. And my chest clenches with anger that I know will only dissipate when he is dead. But that death is denied me as I find myself stuck on my knees, unable to rise and stand no matter how great the longing. I must remain kneeling as the words continue their assault, crippled by my own uselessness.  
'Did you know he's a half blood too – Or has he been telling you lot he's pureblood?'

It seems strange that this image would haunt my dreams, that such an obvious lie would cause such a reaction. For though my temper is legendary it brings with it a misconception, the idea that it controls me. And I have heard these words many times before, they have fallen from the lips of countless people, too many both beneath me and close to me. But none have cut as deeply, none have refused to be brushed aside as these do. Even spoken from those most trusted I never gave them a second thought, never doubted they could be anything but a lie, a vicious and unfounded rumour. I struck them down for their impudence without a second thought, but it was done out of necessity and never fury. And that the words of my most hated enemy should cause me to think otherwise is disturbing at best, that I can hear him laughing at me through those very same words fills me with an unimaginable rage. For in that laugh he is undermining everything I believe, everything I stand for. In that laugh he is questioning my path and my decisions. In that laugh he is making me wrong.

I had expected the room to be cold, but I felt a thin sheen of sweat cover my forehead the moment I entered, strands of hair falling across my face in a way that grated against my patience with it's smallest of discomfort, grated even more with the feeling that to brush it away would be the ultimate sign of rudeness. And so I left it to cling to the side of my face, scratching against the smooth skin as the heat increased and my robes became stifling and more restrictive than I was possible to be comfortable in.  
The light was dim, gently flickering candles that seemed to shimmer in the haze that slowly clouded my vision, as my mind reeled and the heat seemed to increase, enveloping me in a cloud that closed around me and threaten to steal the very air I breathed.  
And when He entered there could be no mistaking. His presence spread before him, permeated every corner and filled it, dark and foreboding yet enticing with its coldness, which came as a welcome relief from the suffocating atmosphere. And as his gaze fell upon me I had to remind myself that he had sought me, that he had requested my presence and wanted me out above all others. I was not to be one of the lowly, grovelling at his feet in the vague hope of a satisfied word, a pleased gesture. I was to be one of the special, one of the few and the powerful.  
I bowed as was required, as I had been told and felt his gaze heat the back of my neck where the tiny hairs stood painfully on end. I had been warned against it, but was still unprepared when I felt the initial invasion and my mind was laid bare before him, laid open to his thoughts and whims. And it was here on my knees that I knew there was nothing he could not achieve, as my body tensed until a low chuckle filled my ears and I looked up hesitantly.  
'You believe as I do,' the tone was rich and thick, pleasant until you noticed the undertones, the tiniest suggestion of uncontrolled and barely concealed malevolence. 'Tell me though, are you willing to fight for them?'  
'Most gladly,' my head bowed again slightly, eyes closing momentarily as the gaze sharpened.  
'You speak the truth, yet the truth in question is not the only issue,' I looked up into the narrowed scarlet eyes of the figure that continued to tower above me. 'You bow before me, but I demand more than that, much more,' I fought the urge the swallow, to retain my dignity even from where I was crouched on the rough wooden floor. 'I do not wish for you to simply fight for me, I demand nothing less than unwavering loyalty. Your life will be mine to do with as I see fit. I will be your Lord, your Master,' the smile that spread across his thin lips contained no amusement as he leant closer, voice lowered to a harsh whisper. 'You will give me not your service, but your very life.'  
'It would be my greatest honour,' I paused for no more than a second, barely noticeable to another although for me it was long enough. Long enough to examine my choices, long enough to examine exactly what my pride meant to me, 'Master,' and at once the smile changed, reaching the eyes as they glinted with victory.  
'You would kill in my name and no other.'  
'Yes, My Lord.'  
'Without question or pause.'  
'You have my word.'  
'Even that pretty new wife of yours?'  
It was a test; I could feel his presence still as my thoughts rushed to her side, to her perfect face and elegant grace. She was the nearest thing I knew to love, the only thing I had for which I even remotely cared.  
'If you so requested it would be done,' I bowed my head again, emphasising my allegiance in the hope my word would be enough.

I was young, impressed by his power and his presence. The life of my wife would have been as easily sacrificed as my pride, sacrificed in his name and for the life he offered me. And I know to some it appeared cold and cowardly, that I would risk her with such indifference, such callousness. But I knew she would have done the same, that she would see the greater good of what I hoped to achieve. For in return he offered me much more, he gave me more than my dreams could have imagined. He gave me the power for which I so longed, and the prestige and respect that came with it. And all he gave me reflected on her and was for her benefit, was born by the future of our family. Her status was lifted alongside mine, the sanctity of all our marriage represented given hope in everything I fought for. For her bloodline was as pure as my own.  
Yet I can still feel the dirt. It clings to my hands and no matter what I do it will not come off, no matter how much I clean or scrub they will never be clean, never be free of this assault.

'Are you sure you won't come with me?' it was a simple question, to beg for her presence would have diminished both her and myself. Still a part of me wanted too, wanted to take her delicate hand and lead her to a better life, a better future.  
'We have had this conversation many times, my love,' her hand was cold against my cheek, as cold as her eyes. 'You have your path and I have mine. I will not kneel before a half blood, not for the sake of our kind, not even for the future of our son,' my heart had frozen with these words, as her hand lingered for a second to long, stopped by the harshness in my eyes. But my fury was not aimed at her, it was meant for those who had spoiled her so, who had twisted her against me with the very same lies.  
'He is no half blood,' the words a forced and strangled whisper. 'You would do well to show more respect, my dearest, for with power such as his there is nothing we could not achieve.' She laughed, a pleasing sound had it not been so cold, so chilled. It rang from the high ceiling and brought her eyes alive as she shook her head gently.  
'Do not deceive yourself,' she said with as much kindness as I was accustomed in her voice. 'I think no less of you for what you must do. It is your strength that you can crawl where I cannot, to protect our future.' There was no mocking in her tone, but nevertheless I heard it, felt the rage build at having my own wife turned against me by lies; that her weakness should be exposed so cruelly through no fault of her own. The rumours had defiled her and taken her from my side, spread by those who knew they could not win and so sought to spread disease and discourse.

She was the only one who would have dared say such words to me, the only one who did not tremble before me, his most feared servant.  
_Most scared._  
Most loyal.  
_Most Unfaithful._  
Most dedicated.  
_So dedicated that I made no move to find him, that I took not a single step towards continuing what he had started. So dedicated that I allowed his followers to trickle away, his vision to become no more than a dream. So dedicated that instead of torturing muggles and mudbloods in his name I reduced myself to floating them helplessly across a crowded field, that I lowered all he stood for to a group of masked strangers embarrassing the weak and helpless in what was no more than a schoolyard prank. So dedicated that I ran when his mark burned the sky. I was no more than just another scared follower, caught in a delusion I did not have the strength or conviction to find for myself, that I did not have the courage to leave._  
No.  
It will not be true.  
There is none more feared than I, none whose name is spoken with such respect even when it is all of me they know. I have been the last face thousands have seen, sneering down on their pathetic existence before it is brought to an end that should never have been granted a beginning. I have tortured mercilessly, heartlessly and enjoyed every curse, every scream; every broken voice pleading for the one thing they know will not be granted.  
_Would they fear me so much if they had seen me grovel myself? If they had seen me beg for my own life the way I make them beg for there's. If they had heard me pleading for my life, pleading to be spared even if only to carry out the wishes of another, of the one I called Master. If they had heard the same mantra seeking forgiveness spill from my own lips as readily as it always does._  
They will always fear me; their children will dread my name as well as that of my son. I will not have the word of an unworthy half blood threaten that, I will not allow the spawn of such a vile union tarnish the position I hold so dear. I will not allow him to take this power from me, to take away everything I hold above the filth of his kind, to take away everything that holds me above him and makes me better than his existence could ever hope to be. I will not allow it; I will see him dead and reunited with the filthy mother he has missed so much before I let his lies take a single shred of what he could never hope to own for himself. I will grant him their reunion and the name Potter will die with him, spat from the lips of his enemies as they have their ultimate victory. I shall look down on his dead and broken body if it is the last thing I see.  
But still I hear the words he dare spoke to me. They pollute my air and taint it with his foulness. I would strangle him with those very words could I; watch gleefully as they wrenched the last dying breath from his body. And I know they can only be lies, for I will not be wrong. I will not be undermined, not by a lucky ingrate whose only claim to greatness is an impossible fluke. It is a single happy thought I cling too before the words once again turn against me, echoing and swirling round my prostrate form crawling through the mud and filth.  
'Did you know he's a half blood too – Or has he been telling you lot he's pureblood?'  
My stomach twists one final time, and I know now why. It is my shame.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys. I haven't updated in ages so here's the fourth chapter :). It's just I've been really busy with school work and hockey practice! Anyway, enough of me going on heres chapter 5! :D**

_**Narcissa**_

Perfect. Everything was perfect. It would have to be, this night would be very important and nothing less than perfection would be acceptable for a Malfoy dinner party. She ran her flawlessly manicured fingers over the fine linen tablecloth and smoothed an errant wrinkle. She'd deal with the house elf for this later. The fine china, white trimmed with narrow rings of silver and green on the edges. Her husband's choice. It was her only household concession to his tastes. The man was a Slytherin to his core. She suspected if he cut himself while shaving the blood would run green.

Tonight was important. She would have to play this perfectly. There could be no errors or she would end up in an intolerable situation. This had to be balanced perfectly. She had to keep Lucius happy, satisfy their special guest and protect herself at the same time. Even as she pondered this, no doubt over her ability to do just this entered the mind of Narcissa Black Malfoy. Never in her life had she failed to get what she wanted, and this would be no exception.

She studied the floral arrangements scattered about the table and made a minor adjustment. The red roses were too close together in this smaller spray. She lifted a lily from elsewhere in the arrangement and switched it with one of the crimson blooms. Better. Perfect.

How to do this tonight? How to maintain what she desired and please those around her? She was no fool, if she displeased tonight's guest or embarrassed or angered her husband she would pay a terrible price. This was part and parcel of the bargain she had made when she married Lucius Malfoy. She would take his darkness, his secrets, his coldness and she would take his beauty, his passion, and his status, adding it to hers and ensuring her children would be at the top of any social ladder. His money would bring comfort, but no more than she was used to, in fact any lesser man would have meant compromises. And Narcissa did not make compromises, she may change her mind, but she never compromised.

She knew what Lucius wanted. She liked that he had not pressed this issue before now. She believed the fact that he had to this point not insisted upon this concession to be a sign he did respect her. Even now he was not insisting, he was prompting, he was urging and he was asking. A satisfied smile curled the deep red lips. Lucius Malfoy was asking. Such little moments were like secret treasures she kept locked inside herself, warming her when she felt cold. She could make Lucius Malfoy ask. And not just for this. Lucius asked.

Sighing slightly she moved from the room and glided gracefully up the stairs. She passed her husband's room and heard the sounds of him speaking to his valet. She too must dress for what was to come. She entered her room and began to remove her robe. Letting it drop to the floor she unpinned her hair and let it fall well past her softly curving shoulders. Sitting before her mirror, she pulled the antique silver brush through her long golden hair.

This would be the night. She was to meet the man himself. She had avoided and sidestepped this again and again, now she would have to face him. The man her proud and arrogant husband called Lord. Lord Voldemort. Narcissa closed her eyes. Lucius might call this man Lord, he might allow him to brand him into his service, scorching the fine white skin of his forearm, but Narcissa would never call any man Lord.

She reached for the ornate glass bottle on the dresser top. Pulling the stopper she let the fragrance fill her senses before dabbing it delicately behind each ear, in the hollow of her throat, at her pulsing wrists, and leaning down gently, behind each knee. The faintly floral scent drew her memory to her mother's garden. Or rather the garden her mother commanded to be grown. The scents of the tropical flowers flourishing there, defying all that was natural in the weather of this country, had filled the air with heavy perfume. Stepping from the sitting room into this special garden was like enveloping yourself in a warm embrace. The heating charm kept the temperature high and the sultry humidity filled the air. The rural placement of the Black house and substantial yearly donations to various charities, kept the Ministry from investigating and complaining.

Taking her cue from her mother, her father had been her Lord, her Master, her first love. She had been Daddy's darling. Her father could speak no wrong, he could do no wrong, nothing Daddy did was in error, the whole world might be wrong, but Daddy never was. Until that day. The day Narcissa learned the reality about the relationships between men and women. The day she walked in and found her father with a woman who was not her mother. He had raged at her for violating his privacy. He had slapped her. She never told her mother, but held her secret to her chest tightly. All the gifts and apologies in the world could not erase what had happened. She had grown up. She took to heart this lesson and no man would ever again be her Lord. Not Lucius and certainly not this half-blood upstart who called himself Lord Voldemort.

A feeling of satisfaction filled her as she remembered her father's face and the face of her uncle, proud Black men both, remembered them the day her cousin had dropped his bombshell. Rogue and radical, Sirius Black had never done things the way a true Black did. He had even managed to somehow get himself sorted into Gryffindor rather than Slytherin. The first Black in memory, and the Black family memory was a long one, to be labeled as anything but a Slytherin. Narcissa remembered the day the outcast, the exiled Black had shown up at the traditional Solstice celebration uninvited.

His mother had shown her non-Black roots by creating a scene insisting he leave. Sirius had refused and had grabbed his brother Regulus by the arm, trying to drag him away for a private conversation. Ever the weakling, ever the momma's boy, Regulus had refused. Not one to be thwarted, Sirius had stood his ground and insisted he would say what he had to say, private or public. It was when Regulus and his father turned their backs on him that her cousin had burst forth the shocking news. Straight from the lips of Albus Dumbledore, confirmed by those old enough to remember and brave enough to admit it, came the news that the champion of the Pureblood, the self styled Lord Voldemort was a half-blood. Son of a muggle. Her father had stared open mouthed, sputtering at Sirius to cease his lies. But her handsome, grey-eyed cousin had simply smirked at them. "So you have chosen your champion, mounted your horse and now you discover not a thoroughbred but a nag. You have earned your saddle sores gentleman. I have done what I could to stop it. Don't expect me to help when this runaway mount carries you straight into the burning barn." He had turned on his heel and left.

Slender pale hands gathered the blond locks and twisted them deftly. So practiced, so skilled, they left just the right amount of curling tendrils to frame her face. No servant dressed her hair. She trusted none to do it so well as she. Reaching out she lifted the small crystal bell and gave it a delicate ring. The connecting door opened and a young woman dressed in crisp uniform entered. Narcissa remained indifferently silent as the maid pulled three gowns from the wardrobe and offered them to her for her approval. After careful consideration, the perfect article was selected and the petite servant assisted her Mistress to complete her preparations.

Minutes passed as she sat in calm and simple silence before her dressing table. At length the knock came. She picked up the hand mirror and feigned final adjustments to her hair. The door swung open without a sound and the footsteps of the man who entered made no sound. Slowly she looked up and caught the eye of his reflection in the large looking glass. His hair was swept back from his proud face and fell in sheets of ashen silk to caress just below his shoulders. Silver-grey eyes held a guarded expression, but one she knew now how to read. He approved. Her husband approved of her appearance. She affected a faint coloring of her cheeks and rose to stand before him.

She watched his eyes sweep over her form. The ivory gown was sleeveless and scooped low in a princess neckline, drawing her husband's gaze to the delicately displayed hint of cleavage. The waist clung tightly to her willowy form and the skirt swept down almost straight to the floor, but sweeping back up behind her to create a full cut to the back, while maintaining a trim line to the front. She wore no adornments beyond the three diamond drop pendant earrings that fell from her ears.

"I see you are ready," his low and sultry voice vibrated through her.

"I am almost ready, there is one more thing." She did not look at him, but at the serpent shaped pin that shown from his cravat. She stepped closer to him and laid the alabaster hand, palm flat, against his chest. "One more detail to be attended to."

Lucius frowned down at her slightly. "What could possibly be left?"

"This." She took his hand and laid it against the flat plane of her stomach. She did not lift her face, but looked up at him through the thick lashes that circled the sapphire blue orbs. Her eyes shown with moisture, "Your son grows."

There it was, exactly as she had planned. Only for the barest instant, only the briefest flicker, but there it was. Joy. Lucius was elated. It illuminated the silver depths just long enough for her to be certain she had seen it. And then, Lucius was once again, Lucius.

"That is happy news indeed. I am pleased." He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed them against the soft skin. "I am truly pleased."

She took his offered arm and allowed him to lead her downstairs. Their true guests had not yet arrived, but shedding cloaks into the waiting hands of a tall stately wizard whose family had been serving the Malfoys for generations, were the people Narcissa had most wished to see. Bellatrix Black Lestrange, her sister, and her husband Rodolphus. Behind them, skulking in the shadows as usual was Rodolphus' younger brother Rabastan. These next few minutes were as close to a casual family gathering as this group ever got, and would be the most crucial. Her plans would triumph or fail based on the next few minutes.

Dropping her husband's arm she approached her sister and embraced her warmly. This was not the norm for the two, but after the close call her sister had experienced just days ago, it would not seem suspicious. Narcissa hugged her sister tightly, tucking her head into the other woman's shoulder. This move exposed the long pale skin of her neck and the smooth white expanse of shoulder the dress revealed. She pulled away briefly, "Oh, Bella, I was so worried. How silly of me. You are of course fine. You were always able to manage." As she spoke she circled her sister and Bellatix turned to keep her eyes to Narcissa. When her back was to the men, Bellatrix's eyebrow rose in silent question. "But I see you are not hurt after all," Narcissa continued, again hugging her sister to her. As she pulled way she saw Lucius' eyes fall to Bella's back. Her gown dipped low and to the uninformed eye, nothing would seem amiss. However, if one knew exactly where to look for it, the bruising, so carefully hidden under the beauty enchantments, was visible.

As the sisters separated, Bellatrix's lips curled in a faint smile. She understood, or believed she understood what Narcissa did not say. _You understand only half my dear sister, the other half I must keep from you as well. _It was a game the two had played for years. Playing off the startling differences between them to accentuate the charms and very different appeals each held was a well used weapon in the arsenal of the Black sisters.

Bellatrix took her sister by the hand and began to walk into the salon. "It is nothing my dear, nothing at all. It was only a minor inconvenience." The three men followed silently until Lucius had secured the doors to the room behind them. They were now alone. As close to intimacy as these five could attain.

"A minor inconvenience?" Rodolphus drew wryly.

"Nothing?" Rabastan exclaimed. "Nothing. She calls being set upon by Aurors nothing."

"She was magnificent, wasn't she Lucius?" Rodolphus smiled, gazing at his wife in sincere appreciation.

Lucius did not smile. His eyes had followed the two sisters who now sat side by side on the settee, claiming a throne that allowed only room for them, while all others must look upon as admiring courtiers. "She would not have had to be magnificent, Rodolphus if you had been more careful with your wife."

The dark man lifted an eyebrow, his sardonic reply falling easily from his lips. "Bella can take care of herself, she doesn't need me."

Narcissa watched Lucius frown deepen and his eyes flit between his brother-in-law and herself. She sat holding Bellatrix's gloved hand tightly in hers. "You have always been magnificent, my dear." Her eyes rested on her sister's face, but cataloged Lucius' every response. "I only hope I shall be as brave and as lucky as you in the future."

Bellatrix's eyes flickered with amusement. She understood exactly what was happening. "My dear," her sister purred in her low voice, "you have a bravery of another sort. One I shall never equal." Sisters first and always.

"Well, whatever you two want to debate," Rabastan declared, taking a glass of wine from the tray that had appeared on the small low table between them, "a toast is definitely in order here." He raised his glass to the darker woman. "To Bella, the most ruthless and wicked of us all. My dear you are slicker than that greasy little kid who used to follow Lucius around at school. What was his name?" Rabastan shrugged, "To Bella."

Narcissa lifted her glass to her sister with a smile on her face. The dark brothers clinked glasses enthusiastically and Bellatrix sipped quietly basking in the glow of the praise. Narcissa watched her husband over the rim of her glass. He drank to her sister, but his eyes were not on her. His expression was clouded and he seemed to be looking at nothing and no one.

"So," Bellatrix turned to her sister, "how have you spent the last two days while I was healing up a bit?"

Narcissa demurred an answer and when her sister pressed spoke quietly about the committees and charitable organizations whose boards she served on in the traditional Malfoy seat. She had just finished telling her sister and the now very bored looking Lestrange brothers about her work with a children's charity that made sure that orphaned children, purebloods of course, were not left to fall between the cracks of muggle social services. She looked up at Lucius questioningly. He held the gaze for a moment before putting down his glass and moving toward her.

"You may tell them, if you wish, my dear," he settled himself elegantly into a chair near his young wife.

Narcissa rose from her place next to her sister and walked over to stand beside him. Her left hand rested lightly on his arm. "We have happy news meant for family only." She watched the look of interest flicker in the dark men and the suppressed smile on her sister's face. "We will, in some months, welcome the new Malfoy heir."

Grins burst on the men's faces and they congratulated Lucius. Narcissa gazed down at her husband's face, now turned toward hers with an expression of satisfaction. He reached for her hand.

"Well, I'm happy for you both, but I must say I'm more than pleased Bella hasn't gotten it into her head to begin this family nonsense as yet." Rodolphus slid languidly into the space Narcissa had vacated next to his wife.

Bellatrix smoothed her black opera gloved left hand over her husband's arm. Narcissa was aware of Lucius' gaze falling on that covered arm as it moved up the sleeve of the robe and rested lightly on the bronzed face. "There will be time for that later. I would rather bring a child into a world that was ready to receive it with it's proper due. Maternal instincts could be so inconvenient given the state of things."

"I fail to see why," Rabastan grinned. "You never looked so motherly as when you are exterminating little mudbloods."

"Be that as it may," Lucius ground out. He was decidedly not in a good mood at the moment and the fact thrilled her. He was looking down at her hand where it lay in his. He turned it over and ran his finger up the pale flesh of her inner arm. He never finished his sentence as a knock and the entry of a servant announced the beginning arrival of their real guests.

Narcissa had seated Bellatrix next to her and the guest of honor, Lord Voldemort, next to Lucius. She had been surprised by his appearance. His face may once have been handsome, but now he seemed ordinary. A sense of power emanated from him and it was impressive, but that was it. She knew this façade was manufactured, but couldn't help falling into it as she sat comparing her husband to this other man. The proud and commanding countenance sat in stark contrast to the more subtle sense of energy that pulsed through this Lord. He made one want to whisper in his presence. When ever his eyes moved to her, she found herself looking away quickly, her hand pressing to her stomach. _Powerful yes, but a half-blood. No my son, I will never bend my knee before that man and with that resolve I will purchase for you the right of a Black to bow before no man. A Malfoy may kneel, but you will be a Black. You will never call a half-blood Lord or Master._

Over the next hours she had spoken no more than five words to the man directly. From the circle of women, which did not include Bellatrix, she watched him listen to her speak of daily activities. He lifted his glass to her along with the others when Lucius, prompted by Rodolphus' insistence, announced the happy news. He lifted his glass but his expression became more guarded and tinged with what she could only identify as disappointment.

As the guests departed, she ticked off the minutes her husband had now spent in his study with their honored guest. Alone now, she stepped into the garden. The door to Lucius' sanctum was open.

"…and so you see, My Lord, it would simply prove a disappointment."

"Yes, Lucius, I do believe you are right. She is a lovely ornament and a perfect wife. But she has not the strength for what we seek." The high voice carried to her ears.

"She has little strength of any kind my Lord. She has long proved malleable to my every whim. She would comply in this if you asked. " Lucius' voice was so ingratiating it turned her stomach.

"But I will not ask. Nor do I think I would accept if she offered. Yes, she is certainly no Bella. Disappointing. Perhaps the Black blood is no longer what it used to be."

Narcissa turned and glided down the flagstone path amid the fragrant flowers. She leaned down to breath deeply of the gardenia's perfume. "No," she whispered softly to the pristine bloom, "I am no Bella."


End file.
